


Karma (what you give is what you get returned)

by wildforce71



Series: Powers 'Verse [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-13 20:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildforce71/pseuds/wildforce71
Summary: It should be an easy mission. Ride to Douai, retrieve Aramis and meet the regiment in time for the war. But nothing is ever easy for the Inseparables, and this mission will test them in ways they can't possibly imagine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This 'verse is not dead!

“So what are we planning to say?” d’Artagnan called as they rode. Neither of the others answered, and after a moment he continued “No plan? We’re just going to ride up there and see what happens?”

“That’s the plan,” Porthos agreed.

“Really? Nothing more than -”

“d’Artagnan,” Athos said mildly.

d’Artagnan fell silent, or least kept quiet enough that they couldn’t hear him. Athos didn’t turn to look at him, just concentrated on keeping up with Porthos. They’d barely stopped since they left Paris, only just long enough to eat and sleep and keep the horses from keeling over. Porthos was eager to see Aramis and convinced that everything would work out fine. Athos was less sure, but he’d kept it quiet and if d’Artagnan had picked it up, he hadn’t commented on it.

They’d been travelling for a day and a half or so and were now within thirty minutes of the monastery. They were having to take more care; this was Spanish territory, and while neither side had started proper war maneuvers yet, they didn’t want to be caught. They were wearing normal clothes and weren’t obviously armed, but that would only go so far if they were spotted.

The heavy gate was closed, but not locked. Porthos hauled on the rope, setting a bell ringing dully inside the walls. A monk let them in, proclaimed confusion about ‘Aramis’ and went to find the Abbé. Athos dismounted, leading his horse to the hitching rail; the others followed suit. Porthos was tense, watching the doorway the monk had vanished through.

“Try and be polite,” Athos murmured.

“I am the very soul of civility,” Porthos protested. d’Artagnan snorted, turning away to busy himself with his horse.

“These are monks. Be _polite_.”

Porthos held his gaze for a moment before reluctantly nodding. “I’ll do my best.”

“That will suffice.”

“Heads up,” d’Artagnan murmured without turning. The two men straightened as the Abbé appeared.

“My apologies for the wait, gentlemen,” he said politely.

“And ours for imposing on you,” Athos answered. “We’re looking for a friend of ours.”

“A friend?”

“Aramis.”

“Rene d’Herblay,” Porthos added.

“Apologies, my children, but everyone who enters this order leaves their name outside.”

“He joined you a few weeks ago,” Athos said patiently. “Hair and beard…” He gestured to describe them.

“You remember him, you must do,” Porthos said, watching him. “Everyone does.”

“Gentlemen, acolytes who come here leave their lives behind. Even if your friend were here, I could not take you to him. The best I could do is offer to take any message you care to leave with me, and give it to him if he comes here.”

“He’s here already!” Porthos protested.

Athos caught his arm, holding him tightly. “We understand, Abbé, and we would never want you to go against the dictates of your order. May we ask lodging for the night? It’s late to be travelling through Spanish territory.”

“Certainly. I’ll have you conducted to the hostel.” He studied them for a moment. “And you will stay in the hostel, yes?”

“You have my word, Abbé. I will leave my message with your hosteller.”

“Very good. God go with you, my children.” He blessed them and left the courtyard again.

“I’ll go and…”

“No,” Athos cut Porthos off.

“They’re not going to know!”

“We’ll know. The Abbé will tell Aramis we’re here, and he’ll come to see us.”

“You’re so sure?”

“You’re not?”

Porthos didn’t have an answer for that. He snarled, grabbed his saddlebags and followed their monk escort towards the guesthouse.

“It’ll be all right,” d’Artagnan said quietly.

Athos was silent for a moment, studying the yard. He didn’t look at d’Artagnan when he asked “Is he well?”

“He’s not unhappy.”

That was a non-answer if Athos had ever heard one, but he didn’t push, just nodded and headed after Porthos.

 

The hosteller was polite but mostly disinterested in them; they had food and a room, and he promised to carry Athos’ note to the Abbé, but that was all the attention they got. Porthos was chafing at sharing a room; he’d been hoping to slip away. Athos was just as happy they were sharing. d’Artagnan mostly kept his head down and stayed in his corner. Aramis didn’t know they were here yet; the Abbé was worrying about something, something connected with them, and hadn’t told him.

They were not invited to service. Athos wasn’t surprised, Porthos didn’t care, and d’Artagnan didn’t care either way. The monastery fell silent as the monks retired for the night.

“Are we leaving in the morning?” Porthos asked, voice calm and even.

“Yes.”

“Even if -”

“Yes, Porthos.”

“We can’t just -”

“ _Yes_ , Porthos.”

“He doesn’t know we’re here,” d’Artagnan offered. “He isn’t ignoring us. The Abbé hasn’t told him.”

“Why not?” Porthos demanded. “What’s going on there? Aramis ain’t sworn in yet, he’s free to leave!”

d’Artagnan shrugged helplessly. “He’s worried about something, but I don’t know him well enough to say what.”

“Athos, let me…”

“Porthos,” Athos said tiredly. “Aramis made his choice.”

“You said yourself…”

“And he should be told when circumstances change,” he continued in the same tone. “So if, by the time we are ready to leave, Aramis has still not been told of our presence…”

He let it trail off, but it was enough for Porthos. He grinned widely. “Thought you were going soft for a minute.”

“Merely trying to give our hosts the benefit of the doubt. Get some sleep. I’ll stay on watch.”

Porthos didn’t argue. d’Artagnan, tucked into his corner, stayed awake long enough to be certain the monastery was asleep before letting himself drift off. Porthos woke him shortly before dawn to take the last shift of the watch; the monks were already up and around, most thinking of little beyond the ritual of prayer, this early. d’Artagnan skimmed over it, running one finger along the new bracelet on his wrist. Constance had spent almost an hour on it, carefully plaiting a lock of her own hair, making sure it would fit without being too tight or too loose. It was hidden under the cuff of his tunic most of the time, but he could feel it, as though she was standing there beside him.

He looked up suddenly, eyes narrowed, and kicked at Porthos’ bed.

“Wha…”

“Aramis is on his way.”

They hadn’t unpacked much. By the time Aramis reached the room, everything was packed up and ready to go again.

Aramis came in and closed the door. The monk’s robes looked huge on him, wide sleeves and floor length skirts. The colour made him look pale.

“You look ridiculous,” Porthos said when he didn’t seem to be ready to speak.

Aramis snorted. “What are you doing here?”

“France is at war with Spain,” Athos said. “We’ve come to ask you to resume your commission and fight with us.”

Aramis blinked, completely taken aback. The Abbé mustn’t have given him Athos’ note, d’Artagnan noted absently. “France…”

“Is at war,” Athos repeated patiently.

“How does...I’ve only been gone a couple of weeks! How did you manage…”

“Treville’s been made Minister for War. I’m leading the regiment. We ride in a couple of days. Will you ride with us?”

Aramis shook his head. “I don’t...Athos, you know why I’m here, this isn’t…”

“You’re going to stay here?” Porthos said in disbelief. “Aramis, we’re at _war_ , we need you!”

“Aramis will make his decision,” Athos said evenly, watching him.

“Everyone…” _Needs to calm down_ , d’Artagnan had planned to say, but a flare of blinding light and burst of sudden pain cut him off. He doubled over, aware that the others were similarly affected, grasping at his head.

Athos was groaning. No - he was _screaming_ , voice rising, clawing at his head. d’Artagnan tried to focus past the pounding headache, to see what was wrong, but everything was blank around him. Everything was blank and Athos was screaming.

Everything was blank…

 _Shit._ He scrambled over Porthos to get to Athos, grabbing at his arms, holding tightly to stop him from hurting himself. “Athos! Athos, listen to me. Listen, look at me, at me. Here. Come on, look at me, concentrate. I know it hurts, just look at me.”

Athos forced himself to focus, gripping d’Artagnan’s wrists desperately. “d’Artagnan…”

“I know. Look at me. What am I feeling right now? Just me, ignore them, look at me.”`He couldn’t spare any attention for the others, beyond noting that Porthos was talking very quickly to a monk at the door, but they weren’t trying to interrupt at least.

“Afraid,” Athos managed, voice low to keep from being overheard.

“Yes. I’m afraid. Past that. Go deeper.”

“Private…”

“Forget that, it’s your turn. Only fair. Come on, Athos. Keep concentrating, you’re doing so well.”

Athos’ eyes closed, opened again. “There’s…”

“Yeah.” d’Artagnan relaxed a little, because whatever Athos had hit it was better than the fear. “Better? That’s easier, isn’t it? Concentrate on that. Make it big, make it everything. Keep it between you and everything else. Don’t look away yet! Do you have it? Big and everything?”

Athos was trembling a little. “How...d’Artagnan…”

d’Artagnan pulled gently at his hands, sliding through Athos’ grip until they were holding hands. Skin contact would help. “Just concentrate on me. It’s all right. We’ll figure it out. Just think about me.” He pushed away all his own worry and fear and concern, pulling up his respect and admiration and love and keeping them in the front of his mind.

It took a long time, but eventually he’d talked Athos into some form of rudimentary shield. It likely wouldn’t hold up to much, and he’d have to watch his own emotions, but at least Athos was mostly functional again. He risked turning to look at the others, though he kept one hand in Athos’.

Aramis was staring at his own hands as though they’d betrayed him. Porthos had his arms folded tightly across himself, watching d’Artagnan. “What the _hell_ is going on?”

d’Artagnan could do nothing more than shake his head. “I wish I knew.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a bit late, guys, I'm on holidays and I literally forgot what day it is...

“He has your Ability,” Porthos said for the third time.

“Yes.”

“He has your Ability, and you don’t.”

“No.”

“Have you got his?”

d’Artagnan glared at him. “How would I know? Have you seen me sleeping since this happened?”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Porthos said with a sigh.

“And I can’t Heal,” Aramis added.

“He tried to sort my headache,” Porthos said at d’Artagnan’s look. “Couldn’t do it.”

“Right. So who’s got your Ability, and whose have you got?”

“More importantly, how did this happen?”

“No, d’Artagnan’s right,” Porthos said. “Who’s got whose Ability?”

“Porthos, that doesn’t matter right now…”

“Not for whoever’s Athos, and probably not for whoever’s me, but whoever’s you should probably know about it before one of us gets hurt.”

“Well, try Healing my headache then,” Aramis suggested.

“How?” Porthos protested.

“I’ll try,” d’Artagnan said, “you’ll have an easier time telling me, it’s closer to empathy.”

Five minutes later he shook his head. “Whichever Ability I got, I don’t think it’s Healing.”

Aramis sighed, turning to Porthos. “Your turn, then.”

Porthos was able to sense the pain fairly quickly, but coaching him to Heal it took much longer. He was a little quicker with d’Artagnan, but Athos shied away from his touch and they didn’t push it.

“That means one of you is me and one of you is Athos,” Porthos said, eyeing d’Artagnan and Aramis.

“You can stab me before I go to sleep,” d’Artagnan said dryly.

“Or you can try and Fade.”

He shook his head. “Fading’s hard on empaths and Athos is only just about holding on. You were right, it doesn’t matter so much for us. You and Athos are the important ones right now.”

“So.” Aramis looked from one to the other. “How did this happen?”

“You ever heard anything like this before?” Porthos asked.

“Never. You?”

“No,” he admitted. “Didn’t know it was possible.”

“I’d have said it wasn’t if you asked me, but…”

Athos flinched seconds ahead of the knock on the door. Aramis waited for Athos’ nod before opening it.

The Abbé smiled benignly. “Brother, you’re late for service.”

“My apologies, Abbé,” Aramis said quickly.

“Are your friends ready to leave?”

“Apologies, Abbé,” Porthos said, joining Aramis at the door. “Athos has been stricken with migraine. Is there any chance we can stay just a day or two longer? I don’t think he can ride like this.”

d’Artagnan fussed around Athos a little, but he was naturally pale and pained and the Abbé didn’t seem to suspect anything. “Oh, that is a shame,” he said softly. “Yes, he may stay. I’ll have a tea sent up, it may help him.” To Aramis, he added, “Remember you have chores to do.”

“Yes, Abbé,” Aramis said obediently.

The Abbé nodded and left, and Porthos breathed out slowly. “Sorry,” he said to Athos. “Only thing I could think of.”

“It was clever,” Athos allowed. “It’s bought us some time. Let’s use it wisely.”

 

Given that they had no idea what they were looking for, investigations didn’t take too long. There was nothing unusual about the room, none of them remembered anything strange happening, they hadn’t noticed anyone strange around. Aramis was certain no newcomers had come to the monastery, even passing through, for more than a week.

“Then it was one of the monks,” Athos said, rubbing his temple.

“You think a monk has the Ability to do this?” Aramis asked.

“Do you think you’re the only one? There must be monks with Abilities.”

“But another here…”

“This did not happen by itself,” Athos snapped. “It was done to us. You say no one else is here, so it was a monk.”

“Or a townsperson,” Porthos suggested.

“The town is half an hour away! An Ability that would work over that distance is so unlikely that -” He broke off, kneading at his forehead.

“Ok,” d’Artagnan said, tapping Athos’ arm. “Let’s refocus, hmm? You have to watch the shield or it slips. Concentrate on me again.”

“You’re...moving,” Athos complained.

“Yes, people do that. We can use something else. Here.” He took Athos’ hand, wrapping it around his sword. “Use that. Take a good hold; let it all wash over you.”

Aramis turned away, letting d’Artagnan’s quiet instructions fade into the background. “These are monks,” he murmured to Porthos. “Good men.”

“Good men do bad things.”

“I’ve had no hint that any of them know about me.”

“So they’ve been hiding it. We’ll work it out.”

Porthos was not quite looking at him. Aramis sighed, but he didn’t push it. Porthos was angry at him, but it would pass. He’d understand.

“You should do your chores,” Athos said, loudly enough to catch his attention.

“Pardon?”

“Chores. Don’t give the Abbé any reason to wonder about us.”

“He shouldn’t go alone,” Porthos pointed out. “We still don’t know what Ability he’s got.”

d’Artagnan shifted a little, uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t leave Athos…”

“It’s fine,” Athos said. “I can manage. Go with him.”

“Is that allowed?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Athos said before Aramis can answer. “Tell them you have a vocation and you’re trying to learn what would be required of you. Just stay with him.”

d’Artagnan nodded reluctantly. “If you’re sure…”

“I’ll manage. Go on.”

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Aramis assured him. “We’ll be back quite soon. And if you need us before then,” he added to Porthos, “the hosteller will know where we are.”

Porthos nodded. “Go on. We’ll just hang out here and nurse Athos’ migraine.”

Aramis smiled faintly and ushered d’Artagnan out, leaving the others behind.

 

  
Aramis’ chores today were in the kitchen gardens. d’Artagnan weeded beside him, mostly silent, trying to adjust to the silence inside his head. He hadn’t had much time to focus on it yet, too worried about Athos.

“How are you doing?” Aramis asked after a while. “I should have asked…”

“It’s been busy. And I’m used to occasional blocks, remember? This isn’t any different.”

“It’s not?”

“Not yet.” He focused on the plants he was working with, avoiding Aramis’ gaze.

“We’ll work this out.”

“I know.”

Footsteps sounded nearby. d’Artagnan glanced up, worried; he wasn’t really supposed to be here, after all, and if he was caught, if Aramis got into trouble…

Everything went strangely fuzzy around the edges. Next to him, Aramis shook his head sharply, but he didn’t speak as the Abbé and another man passed by, nodding benignly to him.

“That answers that question,” he murmured once they were past. “Come back, d’Artagnan, they’ve gone.”

“Come back?” d’Artagnan repeated. “I haven’t gone anywhere, what do you mean?”

Aramis was frowning. One hand crept up to rub at the bridge of his nose. “d’Artagnan, you’re…” He trailed off, frowning uncertainly.

d’Artagnan blinked suddenly, looking down at his hands. Normal, as far as he could tell, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? “I’m in the Fade,” he whispered. “Aramis, I’m in the Fade and I don’t know how…” He concentrated hard on being seen, being visible, but it wasn’t working, and Aramis was forgetting him, was turning back to the weeding as though nothing had happened. “Aramis, no, I’m here, Aramis...please…” He tried gripping Aramis’ arm, shaking it, but he didn’t register the touch or movement, working with his other arm until d’Artagnan let go in despair.

“Please, Aramis,” he said. “Please see me. I’m here, please...I don’t…” He’d never been sure how far Porthos’ influence spread; did the others still remember him? Would they forget if he stayed here long enough? Would Treville forget? _Constance?_ What if they all forgot and he was left alone, unable to talk to anyone, unable to sense them, trapped and frozen…

Porthos came through, talking briefly to Aramis. d’Artagnan didn’t bother trying to talk to him. Whatever immunity the others had to the Fade, Porthos would have none. He’d never been on this side of it, after all.

Porthos wandered off again. d’Artagnan stayed huddled beside Aramis, still occasionally talking to him though he knew it was hopeless. He couldn’t help hoping that he’d just reappear, sliding back out of the Fade as suddenly as he’d entered it.

Athos and Porthos appeared at the entrance to the garden. Aramis looked up, sitting back on his heels with a frown. “Should you be out here?”

“Where’s d’Artagnan?” Athos demanded.

“d’Art...he’s not here.”

“He is here! He’s right here!”

Athos’ eyes were closed tight, d’Artagnan registered, unfolding slowly from his huddle. He must have…he’d figured it out…

“Here, Athos,” he said softly, even knowing it was useless. “I’m here, I’m right here, feel me, oh God please…”

Athos lurched forward, dragging Porthos with him. “d’Artagnan, you have - it’s too much…”

“He’s not here!” Porthos said again. “You’re just having trouble with the empathy. Come back inside.”

“No!” d’Artagnan scrambled to his feet, reaching for them. “Athos, please…”

His hand closed around Athos’ wrist.

Athos caught his arm.

“Please,” d’Artagnan said softly. “Oh, please, see me…”

“You’re here,” Athos said firmly, still holding his arm. “You are, d’Artagnan. You’re real and you’re here.” He worked his hand up to d’Artagnan’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “You’re here.”

Porthos cursed, taking half a step back. “How the hell…”

“Welcome to our side,” Aramis said grimly, moving quickly to help support d’Artagnan when his legs gave out. “All right, d’Artagnan, take a deep breath. You’re fine.”

d’Artagnan was still holding Athos’ wrist. “I couldn’t...I wasn’t…”

“I know.” Athos was pale and trembling, but he hadn’t moved to let go or to pull free of d’Artagnan’s grip. “I sent Porthos, but he just forgot…”

“Strong stuff.” d’Artagnan swallowed the laugh that was trying to erupt. “He’s not used to it. I’m fine,” he added to Aramis, still hovering over him. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Aramis offered. “I just…”

“Strong stuff,” he repeated. “Are you nearly done here? We should go back inside.”

“d’Artagnan…”

“We should go.” He let go of Athos with an effort, pushing himself back to his feet. “Before someone catches us. That was the whole point.”

“I’ll help him finish up,” Porthos said. “You two go on back in. We’re behind you.”

d’Artagnan nodded stiffly, turning and heading back inside. Athos stayed silent at his side all the way.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, that was exciting,” Aramis murmured, picking up the handful of weeds he’d dropped to catch d’Artagnan.

Porthos ignored him entirely, briskly pushing the dirt and mess off the pathway back into the bed.

“Porthos,” Aramis said softly.

“I’m not talking to you.”

“So I see. Why not?”

“Defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

He sighed, picking up the last of the weeds. “You’re angry that I didn’t immediately drop my habit and pick up my sword to follow you into war.”

Porthos kicked another lump of dirt off the edge.

“You never returned to the Court of Miracles.”

“I was never needed,” he snapped.

“No?”

“We are your brothers, Aramis!”

“So are these men,” Aramis said quietly. “And they are unarmed Frenchmen - _unarmed_ , Porthos - in Spanish territory, and we are going to war. Would you have me abandon them?”

“That’s not fair -”

“You say unfair, I say true. These are good men and the Spanish will kill them all if they decide to.”

“An’ you’ll hold them back on your own?”

Aramis shrugged, standing and stretching out his back. A lifetime of fighting, he’d discovered, had not left him in good shape for gardening. “I’ll make their decision to fight here very costly.”

Porthos studied him for a long moment, brows slowly drawing together in a frown. “You’re an idiot.”

“So you’ve frequently told me. What have I done now?”

“God didn’t send you here to die in defence of these people, blockhead.”

Aramis refused to react; he wasn’t really surprised that Porthos had seen through him.”God’s plan is not for us to understand, Porthos.”

He went to step past him; Porthos grabbed his arm, turning inside his reach and pressing their foreheads together. “God did _not_ send you here to die,” he said firmly.

“So sure,” Aramis murmured softly, allowing his eyes to close for just a moment.

“No God you follow could do such a thing.”

He sighed, pulling back. “God has done far worse than ask a soldier to fight, Porthos.”

Porthos glared at him. “If you try and get yourself killed here, you bastard, I’ll haunt you.”

Aramis laughed softly. “Language, please.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it at all, my friend. Let’s get back to the others.”

 

Athos watched d’Artagnan repacking his saddle bag. Their youngest looked calm, and his emotions were strangely muffled, but his movements said he was upset.

“Are you hiding?”

He winced internally. It wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

d’Artagnan huffed a laugh without looking up. “Shielding is different on this side. I wasn’t sure it was working.”

“It’s not - I mean, sort of. You’re there, but - muffled. Fuzzy.”

“That sounds about right.” He was focusing intently on the shirt in his hands, folding it for the third time.

“I’m not using you any more…”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t sensing me.”

Athos withdrew, stung. “Of course. If that’s what you prefer.”

d’Artagnan finally looked up, pushing his hair off his face and sighing. “What?”

“What, what?” Athos snapped, turning away and holding tightly to his sword hilt, trying to pull the shields back up. It was maddening, having to do this over and over.

d’Artagnan was silent for long enough that Athos gave in, turning back to look at him. He really couldn’t afford to alienate the younger man right now. “I’m doing my best not to sense any of you more than I have to,” he explained tightly.

d’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of...I’m not worried about that, Athos. I’m upset. _I_ didn’t want to make things hard for _you._ ”

“...oh,” Athos managed. He hadn’t thought of that, though he should have. It was entirely like d’Artagnan, after all. “Is it the Fade?”

“We don’t have to talk about it just because you’re sensing it,” d’Artagnan said, voice clipped as he bent over his bag again.

“I’m not sensing it.” Although there was something there, hovering behind d’Artagnan, something dark and lingering - Athos pulled his attention away forcibly, gripping his hilt again. “You brought it up.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he said evenly, moving on to Porthos’ pack. Athos winced but didn’t try to stop him; Porthos hated people moving his belongings around.

“All right,” he agreed quietly. “We don’t have to talk about it.” He turned away, leaning against the window sill and staring blankly at the courtyard outside. Two monks were walking slowly around the cloister, talking quietly. They were the only movement visible within the walls.

At least, they were until Porthos came through at a trot, clearly just barely keeping his speed down that much. One of the monks glanced after him with a frown as he passed, clearly unhappy with his haste, but he didn’t speak and Porthos hurried into the hostel without looking back.

Athos turned away from the window. “Porthos is coming,” he warned d’Artagnan. d’Artagnan quickly repacked Porthos’ bag and dropped it with the others, looking up as the door opened.

“We’ve got trouble,” Porthos told them, catching the doorframe to arrest his momentum. “C’mon.”

 

Aramis was on the wall, leaning against the outer edge. d’Artagnan took a moment to appreciate the crenelations; most monasteries didn’t bother with any real protection, trusting in their habits and crosses to keep them safe.

“What are we looking at?” Athos asked, halting a couple of steps away from Aramis. One hand was gripping the hilt of his sword tightly; that shield seemed to be working better for him, d’Artagnan noted.

Aramis stepped between them, touched d’Artagnan’s shoulder to turn him - he conspicuously did not touch Athos - and pointed between them, out towards the woods nearby. “Watch. It may take a moment.”

d’Artagnan watched, frowning. He couldn’t see anything, but if Aramis said there was something there -

He glanced towards Athos, cursed and stepped around Aramis to catch his arm. “Don’t reach for it!”

Athos turned his head towards him, but his eyes stayed fixed on the trees. “I’m almost…”

“Don’t! It’s too far to try and reach. Just come back to us, here. Just the three of us. You two need to be touching him, please. Come on, Athos, back to us.”

Porthos jolted, stepping forward to lay a hand on Athos’ shoulder. Aramis was more circumspect, but he finally wrapped a hand around Athos’ arm, just below d’Artagnan’s. d’Artagnan kept coaxing him back, voice soft and steady.

Finally Athos shuddered, eyes flickering closed and hand coming up to grip Aramis’ arm, bracing himself. “That…”

“Just keep focused on us,” d’Artagnan said softly, watching him. “Don’t worry about anything else right now.”

“I’ve seen you sense at far greater distances than that.”

“When you’ve been doing this for twenty five years you can sense at any distance you like. Right now, stay close and on us.”

Athos shuddered. d’Artagnan noted the reaction but didn’t bother pushing now; it wasn’t likely Athos would tell him while the others were there. Athos pushed lightly, urging them all back a couple of steps and letting go of Aramis’ arm.

“What is it we were meant to be looking for?”

d’Artagnan glanced over the wall, sighing. “I’m guessing that.”

Below them a small group of Spanish soldiers was straggling out of the trees.


	4. Chapter 4

“Abbé, you must bar the gates,” Aramis pleaded. “These soldiers will attack.”

“Spain is a Catholic country,” the Abbé said patiently. “Her sons will not harm us.”

“This is not -”

“And we never bar our gates. All who seek entry are welcome here. You know that.”

“They are coming to attack,” Athos said tightly, leaning against the wall by the door.

“You can’t know that,” the Abbé said placidly.

“Soldiers recognise other soldiers,” Porthos said quickly, shooting a warning glare at Athos. d’Artagnan shifted, shoulder brushing against Athos’. “Aramis is right, Abbé. Those men mean you and yours harm.”

“Our gates may not be locked. We’ll deal with whatever happens.”

Porthos glanced at Athos, back at the Abbé. “What do your rules say about us stopping the Spanish, then?”

“There must not be any violence within our walls.”

“Best stop them before they get inside, then,” Porthos said. “C’mon, d’Artagnan.”

Aramis turned to follow them, but Porthos shook his head. “You need to stay here with Athos.”

“Athos is coming,” Athos said mildly.

“No, he ain’t, he can’t see straight right now. Aramis, you watch him. And them,” he added, gesturing to the monks scattered about to watch them.

d’Artagnan paused by Athos to murmur softly before heading off after Porthos. Aramis sighed, moving to steer Athos back towards the hostel. “What did he say?”

“That I should move my shields to something I’m unlikely to use to kill someone with. How does he do this all the time?”

“He’s used to it, I suppose,” Aramis said absently. “If it doesn’t - Oh, _damn_.”

“What?”

“ _Shields._ Porthos is me, if anyone out there gets wounded…”

Athos followed the thought through and sighed. “Go. I’ll - wait here, I suppose.”

“Are you sure?” but Aramis was already out the door without waiting for an answer, hurrying for the main gates. d’Artagnan and Porthos hadn’t gone too far, arguing quietly a short way down the track.

“What’s wrong?” d’Artagnan asked, half turning to keep one eye on the track.

Aramis gestured to Porthos. “You’re me. If anyone is wounded…”

“Shit,” Porthos muttered. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

“Can you talk him through a shield?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Not quickly.”

“Well, try. I’ll go scout and see what they’re doing.”

Porthos caught his arm. “You can’t…”

“They won’t even know I’m there.” He grinned at them, slipping out of Porthos’ hold. “I won’t be long.”

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis protested. d’Artagnan couldn’t possibly be as calm about this as he seemed, not after his trouble last time.

“They’re up to something or they’d have come to the gate by now. Let me go look. I’ll be careful.”

Aramis sighed, waving him on. “Be careful. Remember you’re down a sense.”

d’Artagnan nodded, slipping away, and Aramis turned back to Porthos. “Now. This will work best if you’re calm. So take a couple of deep breaths and let’s start.”

 

d’Artagnan slipped through the trees, thinking firmly about hiding and being unseen. When he neared the clearing where the Spanish were gathered he slowed, taking a deep breath before passing through the sentry’s eyeline.

Nothing happened. No one shouted, no one reacted at all. Emboldened, he moved closer and passed through again, then slipped past the sentry into the group. No one challenged him or reacted to him at all. It was almost heady, the feeling of walking through them like this.

That lasted just as long as it took him to realise they were speaking Spanish. Of course they were; he shouldn’t have expected anything else, but it was still an unpleasant surprise. He grimaced. At least he could take some of their shot and powder, slow them down a little that way.

Three soldiers in he realised they were drawing something on the ground. He was at the wrong angle, but when he circled it he realised it was a rough layout of the abbey, including features they couldn’t have seen from outside. That wasn’t promising. They’d been here before, or they had someone inside. Either way, the Musketeers had lost an advantage.

He filled his pockets with as much shot and powder as he could and headed back towards the monastery. He was already starting to think about being seen, being real, when he realised someone was coming towards him, hurrying towards the Spanish. He slipped behind a tree, unsure whether he was visible yet or not.

A monk hurried through the trees, hood pulled up tightly. d’Artagnan watched him go past and then slipped quietly after him, thinking _quiet_ and _hidden_ again. The monk didn’t look back, and the sentry who waved him into the clearing didn’t react when d’Artagnan followed him in.

“They saw you,” the monk said, shaking back his hood. d’Artagnan didn’t recognise him, but he hadn’t seen all of them. “The Musketeers know that you’re here.”

“And what are they doing about it?” one of the men asked.

“They tried to persuade the Abbé to lock the gates, but he refused.”

“So they will likely set traps or something of that sort. Is your way in still clear?”

“Yes. I don’t think anyone knows about it. I’ve never seen anyone near it.”

“Good. We will go. Everyone gather your things. Our good friend here will show us the way.” He patted the monk’s shoulder.

The monk shivered. “And my brothers?”

The Spaniard sketched a small bow. “Unharmed, as I promised. We want only the Musketeers. And you will be rewarded for delaying them for us.”

d’Artagnan slipped out of the clearing again; the men were picking up their bags and packs, and he didn’t want to be there when they realised they’d lost some of their shot and powder. He hurried back through the trees towards the others. They needed to know what he’d heard.

 

“You didn’t recognise him?” Aramis asked again.

“He was a monk,” d’Artagnan snapped. “He wore a robe. He had a beard.”

“All right, lad,” Porthos said quietly. Aramis rolled his eyes, and Porthos pointed out “It’s the fourth time you’ve asked.”

“I can’t believe any of the monks here have Abilities.”

“Why not? You do.”

Aramis scowled at him. “Your viewpoint is skewed, you have always been surrounded by people with Abilities. There are actually very few of us in the world. The chances of there being another here, in the Church that hates and persecutes us?”

“Can you just pretend you believe me for now and stop arguing while we’re trying to follow the heavily armed - lightly armed - group of Spanish mercenaries, please?” d’Artagnan said impatiently. “Unless you want to get us caught before we figure out how they’re getting into the monastery?”

“Good point,” Porthos agreed before Aramis could answer. “Go on and check on them, we’ll be nice and quiet back here.” He turned back to Aramis as d’Artagnan vanished into the trees. “This is not a personal failing on your part.”

“If there is another here…”

“Then he’s hiding just as much as you are, an’ if his Ability is seeing other Abilities then there’s no way you could have told, so none of this is your fault. Yeah?”

Aramis pulled a face at him. “When did I become your personal project, Porthos?”

“When you started needing it. Gotta make sure your head’s on right before we leave you here.”

Aramis frowned, studying him, but Porthos waved it off as d’Artagnan reappeared. “I think it’s the kitchen,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Tiny little door just about hidden by the brush. They’ve all gone in except two guards.”

“Athos is still inside,” Porthos pointed out. “How well can he fight right now?”

“Not very,” d’Artagnan said grimly. “You two go back in the main gate and try to delay them. I’ll take out the guards and slip in that way. They won’t be expecting anyone to come from behind and they won’t see me coming anyway.”

“Be careful,” Aramis warned him, turning to follow Porthos back towards the main gate. “Are you armed?” he added quietly.

“Got a dagger. My sword’s in the hostel.”

“You’ve been chasing down Spanish mercenaries with nothing but a dagger?”

“You’ve been chasing down Spanish mercenaries unarmed!”

“My faith protects me,” he intoned seriously, and then grinned at Porthos’ look. “Never mind. I’ll find something to use.” He nodded seriously, turning to head through the gate.

 

Athos crouched behind an outbuilding door, watching as three of the mercenaries tore the hostel apart looking for him. The hosteller was arguing; one of the men shoved him aside. Athos scowled. The hosteller was elderly and had been nothing but kind to Athos, bringing him tea for his migraine and leaving him alone apart from that.

Once it was clear Athos wasn’t there the three stormed off, dragging the hosteller with them. They seemed to be gathering the monks in the chapel. Athos hoped quietly it was just for confinement, not to make it easier to kill them.

Sudden noise from the main gate caught his attention and he headed in that direction. d’Artagnan was somewhere around, focused and intent. Athos tried to ignore the sensations as much as he could, concentrating on staying out of sight as he headed for the gate.

Most of the mercenaries seemed to be standing in the courtyard in a wide half circle. Porthos and Aramis stood in the centre, both looking as unthreatening as possible. Aramis was carrying on a spirited discussion with one of the mercenaries, probably the leader, judging by his clothes.

Athos glanced sideways as d’Artagnan knelt beside him. “How many?”

“Nine there,” he nodded towards the courtyard. “Three at the chapel.”

“That’s all?”

“All that’s left.” d’Artagnan shot him a look. “You’re all right?”

“I’ve been trying to ignore them,” he admitted. “Not worth knowing where they are if I Fall when they die.”

“Safer,” d’Artagnan agreed. “It’s strange not having to worry about that when I’m fighting. How are your shields?”

“Based on my jerkin, at the moment, so let’s hope nothing happens to it.”

“Let’s.” He looked down towards the courtyard. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t speak Spanish, d’Artagnan.”

“I’m aware. But Aramis does. What’s he feeling?”

Athos followed his gaze. “I…”

“Look at him. He looks calm. Can you feel calm?”

“No,” Athos said slowly. “He doesn’t feel calm.”

“How does he feel?”

“Worried....”

“Worried?”

“Stalling,” Athos said abruptly. “He’s stalling. He doesn’t have a plan.”

“Good. Up to us, then. Can you fight?”

He nodded, holding up the bundle of their swords. “Here.”

d’Artagnan took his and Porthos’ both, sliding his into place and carrying Porthos’. “Give me a minute or two.”

Athos nodded, looking determinedly away. Aramis was still trying to negotiate, it looked like. Porthos was watching, arms folded across his chest. After a minute one hand dropped down to wrap around the hilt of his sword, pushing it behind his leg as best he could.

Aramis made a placating gesture. The leader stepped forward and struck him across the face.

Athos stood without thinking, drawing his sword. Porthos was already engaging the leader, driving him back and away from Aramis. d’Artagnan was sprinting towards the chapel, hoping to get there before they realised what was happening and took hostages.

Athos waded into the fray, feeling everything else get lost in the haze of fighting.


	5. Chapter 5

“It’s fine,” Aramis said patiently.

“It’s not fine, I can feel it throbbing from here,” Porthos said from across the room.

“It’s a bruise, Porthos. It will heal.”

Athos ignored them, watching the last remaining mercenary. “Well?”

“Do you think it will mean anything?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, it will be proof.”

“It will have no legal standing.”

“It will be proof,” he echoed.

The man scowled, throwing up his hands. “You’ve left me no choice.”

“This is true.”

The Abbé offered a quill. The man snatched it, signing at the bottom of the parchment. He was right, it would have no legal bearing, but a promise to keep Spanish troops away from the monastery signed by a Spaniard - one who turned out to hold a military rank, at that - might help them a little.

Porthos took charge of the man, escorting him out of the monastery. Athos turned back to the Abbé. “He is right that it provides no legal protection. You and your brothers should think about returning to French soil.”

“When war comes there are always people in need. Children, widows, wounded. Your concern does you credit, but we will stay and provide what aid we can.”

“France cannot guarantee your safety. You know this.”

“The One above France will guide and aid us.”

Athos nodded, accepting that. He knew better than to try and argue with a man of faith. “Very well.”

d’Artagnan appeared, one hand clamped tightly around the arm of one of the monks. “Athos, a moment?”

Athos excused himself from the Abbé, moving to join them near the door of the room. Aramis joined them. “This is the man?” he asked quietly.

“I saw him talking to the Spanish outside,” d’Artagnan agreed.

“I don’t know what you mean,” the man attempted.

“Brother Johannes,” Aramis said quietly. “Why?”

He tried to bluster for a minute more before crumpling. “They knew you were coming,” he told Athos, head hanging low. “They said they would kill everyone here unless I told them when you got here.”

“How did they know?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t told.”

“And you - delayed us,” d’Artagnan said, tone making it clear he meant something else.

“I had no choice, you were going to leave!”

“How do you undo it?” d’Artagnan asked, waving away the justification.

“It was done to all four of you while you were together. Once you’re far enough apart, it will revert.”

“I hope it does.” Athos turned to Aramis. “His life is in your hands.”

Aramis studied him for a long time, long enough to unnerve him. “He was afraid,” he said finally. “If it should happen again, he will know to come to me for help.” Johannes nodded earnestly.

“And if he should try to expose you?” d’Artagnan asked.

“He would expose himself as well. I’m as safe now as ever.”

“If you think so,” d’Artagnan murmured. “Come along, Johannes, let’s have a little talk.”

Athos watched him go, a little bemused. “He’s been spending too much time with Porthos.”

“He tends to rub off on people,” Aramis agreed.

“You plan to stay here?”

“You heard him. We need to be separate for our Abilities to come back.”

“I heard him,” Athos agreed. “That wouldn’t stop you from coming after us once your Ability has returned.”

“I made a vow. I believe that I am here for a reason. Perhaps it’s as the Abbé said. There will children, and injured people. Perhaps I can help.”

“Carefully.”

“Always. Perhaps I can even feed you information. This is Spanish ground, after all, and I can still read a troop movement.”

“Carefully,” Athos repeated, no change in inflection.

“Always,” Aramis said again.

“And you get to explain to Porthos.”

“Aw, Athos! You’re his commander!”

“And I’m delegating the task.”

“You’re not my commander.”

“I’m still delegating. I’ll talk to d’Artagnan, you talk to Porthos. That seems fair, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve grown hard these last - ten days.”

“That’s what happens,” he agreed easily. “We’ll be preparing to leave once we set the hostel back to rights. That’s how long you have.” He clapped Aramis on the arm and headed off, leaving him to think of the best way to explain to Porthos.

 

Porthos was washing his hands at the well when Aramis came to join him, leaning against the low wall. “Porthos -”

“Don’t bother.”

That caught him by surprise, and he frowned. “I’m sorry?”

Porthos straightened to look at him. “ _Porthos, I’m sorry, but I’m dead set on being a stupid martyr even though there’s no point, so I’ll be staying here while you ride off to war._ That about right?”

“That’s not even nearly right!”

“But you’re staying here.”

“...yes. I’m staying here.”

“Right.” Porthos turned back to washing his hands.

“It isn’t because -”

“Do you honestly think I need to hear that?”

“...no?” he said very warily.

“You think there’s anything you can say I don’t know already?”

“They want me to shave my beard,” he said conspiratorially.

Porthos barked a laugh, surprised. “Good luck to ‘em.”

“Porthos -”

“I mean it. You try and tell me any of that stuff, I’ll hold you down and shave you myself.”

“Promises, promises,” Aramis murmured. Porthos clapped him on the arm and headed back towards the hostel.

Oddly unsettled, Aramis trailed after him, meeting d’Artagnan along the way. “Do you need anything before we go?” d’Artagnan asked.

“You’re not surprised either?”

“I’m not my usual self right now, Aramis, but I know you. I know how you feel about this place, about your vow. I was never sure about coming to retrieve you.”

“You were always the wisest of us,” Aramis intoned. 

d’Artagnan snorted in disbelief. “Was that when I was trying to kill Athos or when I was trying to kill LeBarge?”

“I was thinking of misloading while a bandit was trying to ride you down.”

“Are you ever going to let that go? I know how to load a pistol!”

“ _Now_ you do. Because I taught you. Endlessly.”

“I apologise for taking up so much of your valuable time.”

“As you should. I could have spent that time...venerating His holy name,” he added just a little too loudly as they reached the courtyard.

“You did plenty of venerating,” d’Artagnan told him, leaning on the word for a second too long. Aramis scowled half heartedly, cuffing him into the building to help finish clearing up.

 

It took a couple of hours to get the hostel set back to rights. Aramis went to the kitchen and got them some fruit and dried meat for the road. Athos checked on the old hosteller - unharmed apart from a few bruises - and thanked the Abbé for hosting them, apologising for the trouble they’d brought along.

That done, they gathered in the courtyard. d’Artagnan watched as the three men shuffled around, none of them wanting to be the first to say goodbye.

“Will you stay in touch?” he asked, more to get them moving than because he doubted the answer.

“Of course.” Aramis forced a smile. “You’ll be sick of me.”

“I’m sick of you now, does that count?”

Porthos cuffed him out of the way. d’Artagnan retreated, protesting because it was expected. Porthos offered Aramis a hand. “Before I lose your Ability?”

Aramis gave in, letting Porthos take his hand. d’Artagnan watched the bruise and swelling go down; Aramis stretched his jaw, wriggling it from side to side. “How odd. Does it always feel like that?”

“How’re we supposed to know?” Porthos protested, letting go. “That’s better, at least. Not screamin’ at me any more.”

“You won’t have to worry for too long, so long as neither of them injure themselves before we reset.”

“Yeah, but you will once the orphans and injured start coming in.”

“I’m used to it. I know how to deal with it.”

“Hmm.”

Athos didn’t touch Aramis, just bowed his head. “We will be expecting regular updates. If you should fail…”

“Musketeers to the rescue. I know. Give my best to - everyone.”

“I will.”

“Be safe,” Aramis said, aiming it at all of them. “We’ll pray for a swift end to the war.”

“Thank you,” d’Artagnan murmured, gripping his horse’s reins and turning towards the gate. It got the others moving, murmuring last goodbyes as they passed Aramis. Outside d’Artagnan mounted, leading the others away at a jog.

He glanced back just before they passed out of sight. A lone figure stood at the gate, watching. d’Artagnan turned his attention back to the road to Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am working on Season Three, I promise. It's slow going, but it is being worked on. I can tell you now, the theme for the season comes from a line from _Jesus Christ Superstar_. Make of that what you will!


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